Her body lying against my legs is comforting, like a living weighted blanket.
She looks at me, then closes her eyes.
Hearing a noise, her eyes flash open. Food? Delivery? Friend?
If it’s a metal clink, she will sprint to the kitchen.
She crosses her front paws as though she wants to prove she is a polite dog.
Sighing, she nuzzles her snout in between the outer edge of my thigh and a front paw.
I pet the top of her head and she shifts so she can lick my hand.
Salami tongue is what I call it, but it might resemble bologna more.
She rolls to her back, rubs her face with her paw, listens to the upstairs sounds.
It’s your birthday, I tell her.
You’re 3!
No response.
I pet her again. She straightens her front and back legs and yawns.
No pets, please, she says.
Cuddles are enough.
The white hair on her chest is starting to curl.
She looks fancy when she sits up, like she’s wearing a tuxedo.
A bath and haircut are needed but if I had my way, the scruffiness would grow indefinitely.
She allows her eyelids to close halfway, then completely until she hears another noise.
Eyes open.
I smile and talk to her in a soothing voice.
“Hello, hello, my sweet girl.
I love you.”
She holds my gaze,
stares into my soul with her chocolate brown eyes
and burps.